Lifeboat! (17 page)

Julie raised her hand in farewell as the car moved off down the road, and
she walked along the road and over the bridge back towards the Nature
Reserve Centre to make another phone call.

Ten minutes later she rejoined Howard.

‘Are you ready now?’

Julie glanced anxiously at the sky. ‘Howard, I’m not sure we should even
put to sea. It’s …’

‘Look, if you hadn’t been so busy playing the Good Samaritan we could
have been away ages ago. We’re darned well going now!’

The depression centred over the Midlands was moving rapidly towards the East coast. Between their afternoon scheduled programmes the BBC repeated the gale warnings:

‘
… Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight, Humber … a warning of severe gales force nine, increasing storm force ten, imminent …
'

‘Captain—Captain Schlick!' There was urgency and a tinge of fear in the First Mate's tone as he half-turned from the wheel.

‘Ya, was ist denn, Droysen?' snapped Schlick, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and recorking the bottle of rum. He was reaching towards the locker, the hiding-place, when the ship gave a violent lurch beneath his feet. The bottle slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces, the liquid spreading out across the wooden floor. The ship heaved again, but for a few seconds the Captain stood gazing down stupidly at the broken bottle and the rum—his one means of relief from this pain—dribbling about the floor.

‘Captain—Ludendorff says the engines are over-heating. We must reduce to half-speed.'

‘No,' Schlick bellowed. ‘We've got to reach the shelter of the Wash before the storm breaks.'

The ship lurched and Droysen, his grip on the helm relaxing momentarily as he spoke to Schlick, found himself tossed backwards. The wheel spun freely.

Schlick lunged forward, his huge hands grasping the wheel. For a few moments he wrestled to bring the ship back to its original course, then he looked down at the man sprawling on the floor. ‘Grosser Gott! Can't you handle a ship yet?' Schlick growled in his guttural German. ‘You are not fit to be a first mate!'

Droysen, pale-faced, scrambled to his feet. His hand was bleeding where he had cut it on a piece of broken rum-bottle. He staggered towards the door, the ship heaving beneath his feet. He paused briefly in the doorway to glance back at Schlick. Who was he anyway to find fault? Droysen thought bitterly. A captain who drank on the bridge like he did was not fit to be a captain! Droysen weaved his way to his quarters to bandage his hand leaving Schlick to battle with the rolling ship.

Below in the engine room the engineer, Ludendorff, prowled about anxiously watching the over-worked engines as they grew hotter and hotter with every mile.

Away from the shelter of the Haven the sea was far rougher than even Julie had anticipated. There was no point now in arguing with Howard, all her concentration must be on crewing, on getting them back to shore.

She saw Howard mouthing words at her and though above the roar of the wind and the slap of the waves she could not hear what he said, by the look on his face she knew he was still ridiculing her anxiety. He looked as if he was enjoying the situation, the adventure, the challenge. He could see no danger.

They were still heading out to sea, running off the wind and Julie could feel the enormous strength of the wind, knew that the gusts would soon become too strong, too unexpected and sudden, for them to cope with.

She shouted above the howl of the wind and water and the flapping sails. ‘Howard,
Howard
, tighten your sheets now. We're getting too far out.'

Howard, the helmsman, shrugged and grinned. ‘Can't hear you, old thing,' he mouthed at her.

Julie gave an exaggerated grimace of fear, frowning and gritting her teeth at him and pointing northwards. But Howard only shook his head and laughed.

Julie inched her way the length of the boat to sit opposite him. Conversation was still difficult, she still had to yell and the wind caught at her words and whipped them away. ‘Howard, we should go on to a reach. Look how choppy the water's getting out here and the wind …'

‘Julie,' he said scornfully, ‘I thought you were good at this sort of thing? You're chicken. I've told you I've done plenty of sailing in the Lakes …'

‘What?' Julie shrieked. ‘What did you say?'

‘The Lakes—I've sailed a lot in the Lakes.'

‘My God—the
Lakes
,' she whispered to herself, appalled. All that boasting, all that ‘ never out of my friend's boat' had that all been on the Lakes?

‘Have you never sailed on the sea before?' she shouted at him now.

To her mounting horror, Howard shrugged and shook his head. He was saying something, trying to justify himself, but Julie was in no mood to listen. Anger, so alien to her gentle nature, welled up inside her. ‘Howard, you're a fool if you don't take notice of me. I know this coast …'

Howard's expression darkened. ‘ Don't call
me
a fool, Julie. Nobody calls me a …'

The wind kicked against the dinghy, rocking it violently. Howard had allowed the boat to turn slightly to port so that a gust of wind was able to get behind the boom and flick it suddenly towards the helmsman's head.

‘Look out!' Julie yelled. Howard ducked, only just in time and struggled to straighten the boat on course, with the wind dead astern once more. Julie went back to the jib.

Without giving the warning shout of ‘ stand by to gybe', Howard pulled in the main sheet and began to heel the boat to windward, crossing the boat as the boom came over. As the boat turned to port, the wind caught the mainsail fully, side on.

Suddenly Julie realised what was happening.

‘Howard, Howard …' The wind savagely tore the words from her mouth as the boat went over to leeward. She saw Howard, arms and legs flailing briefly, fall backwards into the water. Only her own instinctive swift reaction prevented Julie from being tossed into the sea too. As the boat keeled over she scrambled up over the rising port gunwale and straddled the hull. Howard, floundering in the water, grabbed for the mast to save himself.

‘No, not there, Howard, you'll pull her further under.' Julie yelled, but above the wind and the sea and the noise he could not hear her. She gesticulated wildly, but he did not see her. At that moment a wave buffeted against the boat, almost knocking Julie from her precarious perch and sweeping Howard further away from the boat.

At least it had stopped him causing a complete capsize, Julie thought as she tried to hook her foot on to the centreboard. Straggling against the heaving sea, she tried to grab the jibsheet on the slippery gunwale to get extra leverage, but frustratingly it flapped just out of reach. Desperately anxious to bring the boat upright before it turned turtle completely, she now manoeuvred herself so that one foot rested on the centreboard sticking out horizontally just above the surface of the water and keeping the other foot on the rubbing-strake and gripping the rubbing-strake with both hands. She leaned backwards carefully to lever the boat upwards, to lift the mast and drag the sails out of the water. Her arms felt as if they were being wrenched from their sockets, but grimly she hung on as she saw the mast begin to come clear of the water and she eased the pressure on the centreboard. Miraculously, it seemed to Julie in such seas, the boat came upright and with the agility born of danger, she clambered into the cockpit as the boat came up. The boat was still rocking dangerously, made more unstable now by the water it had shipped sloshing from side to side. Immediately Julie eased the mainsheet and the jibsheet until the sails flapped and then she began to bail out, all the time scanning the water around for sight of Howard. Only when she had the dinghy relatively safe could she start to look for him in earnest.

Then she saw his hands appear over the side of the boat and the craft rocked violently as Howard tried to haul himself into the boat.

Julie, scraping her knees, flung herself to the opposite side of the boat to balance him, but apparently he had not the fitness nor the strength to pull himself in. She saw his grip loosen and his fingers slither from sight. As the boat steadied she moved carefully across to peer over the side. Howard was still near the boat, his head bobbing up and down.

‘The stern,' she yelled, completely out of patience now with his lack of what was to her elementary seamanship. ‘Come in over the stern. I'll help you.'

Lying almost flat in the boat but leaning out over the stern, Julie guided Howard.

‘Grab the transom.'

‘What?'

‘This,' she snapped and slapped it with her fist and muttered, ‘God, don't you know anything?' Then louder she shouted at him. ‘Take a deep breath and push yourself down in the water first and then pull up as hard as you possibly can. Don't let go of this, though.'

To his credit, Howard now did as he was told, but it took three attempts plus Julie grabbing hold of him and hauling him in, before he landed, a gasping, shuddering heap in the bottom of the boat.

Julie now took charge. She gave Howard a few moments to rest and then she started issuing orders. ‘The quicker we make land the better,' she yelled grimly into his ear. ‘Haul in the mainsheet, get back to the tiller and let's get moving! This wind's getting worse by the minute.'

Stiffly Howard crawled aft and took hold of the tiller. Gone was all his conceit, all his arrogance, washed away in those terrifying moments in the raging sea.

‘Get that sheet in!' Julie shouted again. With numb fingers Howard obeyed her command.

Satisfied that he was at least doing what she told him now, Julie turned her attention to the worsening weather. In these conditions it would be sufficient to use just the mainsail, no point in causing themselves more difficulty. As long as they reached the shore safely it didn't matter if it took them a bit longer.

Or did it?

She looked up at the scudding clouds above them, the darkening world around them and the rising, bucking seas beneath them.

If only, Julie thought in a rush of emotion, it were the reassuring figure of Tim in the boat with her, with his expertise, his knowledge and, yes, his love for her, instead of this conceited oaf who had put them in such danger. How could Julie ever forgive herself and now she realised just what it must have cost her father, too, to have remained silent, for she knew he must have seen through Howard Marshall-Smythe from the start.

And what must he be feeling now, that father of hers? Was he aware of the danger she was in? His face was floating before her mind's eye all the while her numb fingers worked at the sheets. Unbidden, beside the face of her father, she saw Tim, saw the hurt, the anxiety, and knew in an instant how she had wounded him too.

If only we get back, she prayed silently. If only …

Then she knew what she should do. Fire a flare. Her faith was such that she knew that was all she had to do.

Fire a red distress flare and the lifeboat—and her father—would come.

She scrambled towards the locker under the foredeck and felt for the package of hand-held flares. There were no flares in the place where they should be.

‘Howard. Howard!' She crawled back towards him. ‘The flares—the red flares. Where are they?'

‘I don't know. I just asked the chap at the shop to fit her out. I suppose he put them somewhere.'

There was nowhere else they could be except where she had already looked. Julie's heart pounded. She swallowed to try to ease the tightening feeling of panic in her throat.

There were no distress flares aboard the
Nerissa.

For a time she still thought they could make it.

They were sailing a broad reach northwards parallel to the shore, as they had earlier in the day, but now the conditions were very different. The sea was a cold, inhospitable fury, the wind, though predominantly still from the south-west, was gusting in all directions and at times the gusts reached storm force.

With an inexperienced helmsman and a young girl, who, though her knowledge of the sea was sound, had not the physical strength against such conditions, disaster was inevitable.

It came when they tried to tack into the wind, to begin beating towards the shore and safety.

She felt the boat begin to rock dangerously and glanced behind her. Howard, his hands still clutching the mainsheet and the tiller, was rocking backwards and forwards, his mouth open, his eyes glazed with fear.

Julie scrambled to the stern and peered over.

The rudder blade had risen up out of position. Obviously Howard had not set the tension on the downhall correctly—the cord was jammed under the water. She grabbed at the hook and tried to stretch it forward but the rubber cord was held fast. Obviously, in the rough seas they were now encountering, the rudder stock had been badly damaged all because of Howard's negligence.

But was it negligence, Julie thought in that awful moment, or just sheer ignorance?

For the first time in her young life, Julie Macready felt very frightened of the ocean.

The
Nerissa
was careering madly out of control. Julie made a desperate effort to save the boat, but Howard, petrified, seemed unable to move.

The dinghy tipped sideways, the starboard gunwale almost dipping beneath the waves. Julie turned to try and grab hold of Howard as he was falling backwards again into the water, his shriek of pure terror echoing in her ears. The boat rocked this way and that, shipping water, the mainsail swung dangerously and Julie turned in time to see Howard throw up his hands in fear, releasing the tiller and the mainsheet in one instant. The boom swung loose. Julie saw it coming and instinctively ducked down, yelling as she did so and trying to pull Howard down with her. But he took the full force of the blow on his shoulders knocking him head first over the stern into the water. Julie caught hold of the snaking sheet, but the boat was rocking